


Pokemon Blue Moon: A Courier in Unova

by hambor12



Category: Fallout: New Vegas, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series)
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-05
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-02-11 00:59:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12923934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hambor12/pseuds/hambor12
Summary: Abernathy DeLaerie is a lot of things. A courier. A survivor. A bounty hunter. And of course, the Mojave’s last, best, hope for humanity. A Pokemon trainer wasn’t one of those things. But a Think Tank experiment gone awry has her land in the Unova region. Lost, confused, but always up for adventure, witness Courier 6’s newest trek through Unova in search of people to help and a way back home. In that order. Also, she can talk to Pokemon. Crazy, right?





	1. My Name Is (Abernathy)

War. War never changes. In the aftermath of the Battle of Hoover Dam, New Vegas was united not under the Bear or the Bull. Not beholden to an Old World capitalist’s whims. No. That day, Vegas flew the flag of one Courier Six, an Ace, a Wild Card nobody expected but welcomed wholeheartedly, especially after seeing one General Oliver thrown off the side of the Hoover Dam.

 

There are many tales of Courier Six throughout the American Wasteland. Some say it’s a young figure clad in Riot Gear, Ranger Sequoia in hand dispensing frontier justice throughout the wastes. Others say it’s a mustachioed man in a duster, hair and handlebar mustache flowing in the air as he wreaks havoc with his army of weird and wacky companions. But the truth is this. The one called Courier Six is but a geriatric Hispanic gunslinger named Abernathy DeLaerie.

 

It’s true that most people wouldn’t be afraid of someone who could be your neighbor’s grandma, but as the Mojave’s worst came to find out, even your neighbor’s grandma could be damn well good with a revolver. 

 

The Good would hear the sound of Mr. New Vegas on her radio and feel safe knowing their staunch protector was watching over them, ready to sucker punch and/or perforate the next motherfucker to harm the innocent.. The Bad would hear Mr. New Vegas on her radio and fear their Horsewoman of Death, preceding a hailstorm of  .45-70 Gov’t bullets upon their person. The Ugly knew better than to cross Courier Six. 

 

Yet all heroes have an origin story. Superman has his Krypton, Pecos Bill has his covered wagon. Abernathy DeLaerie’s was a shallow grave in Goodsprings. Once upon a time Abernathy was but a courier for the Mojave Express. Unknowingly bearing the very Platinum Chip she would later use to bring about an independent New Vegas, she was shot and left for dead by Benny, the leader of the Tops Casino and noted fashion disaster. Saved by a kind robot she would later feel bad about having to kill in the future, she was taken to the small settlement’s town doctor, Doc Mitchell, who gave her impromptu brain surgery to remove the shards of metal in her brain. It would not be the first time. Whoever Benny shot that night in the Cemetery died that day, and from their ashes arose Abernathy, Nevada’s Phoenix. Following the still often spoken-of showdown at Goodsprings in which our hero banded the small town together to oust the threat of an especially explosive prison gang, she set off on her quest of revenge.

 

That quest for revenge evolved many times over its lifetime. She had a real tendency of getting involved in things, a lot of things she would only barely understand or even be well beyond her paygrade. Despite this, there was always this nagging itch for justice that prevented her from letting bygones be bygones. She helped people of all walks of life, even if they weren’t people per se. There was the pack of Ghouls she helped shoot for the Moon in the most literal sense possible, and in the same night help a sniper take revenge on the seemingly nice innkeeper, whose true actions were more than deserving of having the bitch’s head splattered in front of the dinosaur. She saved a town and reinstalled its sheriff. Literally, as in reinstalling a robot’s police protocols. She rebuilt Nipton from the ashes with her own two hands, turning a bonafide shithole into a strong, thriving settlement. Her work for the Followers of the Apocalypse and the rest of Freeside are still talked about by Julie Farkas to this day.

 

Of course, her most proudest achievement would be creating a free New Vegas. If there was any weapon stronger than her revolvers, it was her words and actions. Uniting the factions of New Vegas under her flag was no easy feat. But it was with hard work and charity that made the dream happen. She brought the Great Khans together one last time while saving them from their projected demise. She gave a group of aging Enclave remnants a purpose for one last mission, inadvertently creating a new team of heroes for the wasteland. She helped the Boomers achieve their dream of flight. And at the end of the day, she refused to take the easy option of having the NCR be the “good guys” after seeing firsthand their ineffectiveness and tendency towards imperialism. Some may call it betrayal when she had fought the Battle for the NCR until the very end, where she straight up executed the NCR’s highest ranking officer by throwing him off a dam. But mercy was shown. Granted, shown at the face of a well-armed Securitron Army, but it was shown nonetheless as she let the NCR leave New Vegas to its own devices. 

 

Of course, just because conflict of Hoover Dam was over didn’t mean that Abernathy stopped adventuring. With a newly updated Yes Man bearing the ability to make his own decisions and maintain the Strip with the efficiency of Mr. House without House’s imperialist tendencies. True to her nature, Abernathy kept on helping people. Just because the war was over didn’t mean that her duties were, too.

 

One such duty was something that Abernathy called “babysitting”, in that the “baby” she had to watch over was not a baby, but five. And also not babies, but nigh-immortal floating robot brains in jars that also happened to be the smartest minds of her age, located in the Big Mountain Research Facility. A few months back, these brains in jars stole her heart, spine, and most of all her brain, and managed to get it stolen by their former colleague and supervillain arch-rival. Of course, she later learned that the arch-rival was actually a rather nice, if senile, individual who was the only thing keeping the her wards, the Think Tank, from eradicating the Mojave Wasteland in their horrific and collateral damage-laden experiments. For example, Cazadors. Abernathy had already come to that conclusion during her treks throughout the Big Empty, but after having her fears confirmed by Dr. Mobius, she made it her mission to protect her home from the Think Tank. Primarily, by checking up on them weekly as their “caretaker” to prevent them from doing anything outside of what she judged “safe”. 

 

It is during one of these excursions to the Big Empty that our adventure begins, an adventure of confusion and friendship in a world not unlike her own. Which would probably make it the fifth such adventure in Abernathy’s life. Dandy.


	2. Open the Door, Get on the Floor

Dr. 0 has had many ideas floating throughout the biofluids within his glass tank, but the one with the highest priority at the moment was getting out of the literal iron grip of his former semi-willing test subject.

 

The one currently throttling the chaotic-neutral doctor was an averagely-built Hispanic woman of about 60 years of age. Her silver hair fell in styled Marilyn-esque locks, and topped off with a crimson-red NCR beret, eyes masked by reflective aviator shades. Her garb consisted of a sepia-toned duster over a red checkered dress-shirt and blue jeans, accessorized by a variety of ammo belts and most impressively, a shining bolo tie with a platinum poker chip as the slide. Of course, Doctor 0 wasn’t thinking about what the person who was doing the floating-brain-jar-robot equivalent of strangulation was wearing, but for the sake of the narrative deigned to describe his assailant nonetheless.

 

“Oh god, uncle! I said Uncle!” cried the robot jar. He motioned his eye-monitors to the side for help from his colleagues, but saw no response from Klein (too busy looking over data), Borous (also looking over data), 8 (presumably looking over data?), or Dala (molesting a teddy bear while looking over data).

 

“Zero, you better tell me why Muggy’s going on about a new facility in the Empty or I swear I will crack open your skull-equivalent and pour moonshine into your biofluids!” said the elderly woman. As the caretaker of a group of ethically deficient supergeniuses, she wasn’t exactly cotton to having important projects going on behind her back.

 

“Alright, alright! Damn that blasted bastard of a Securitron. You let me go and not pour that glorified Abraxo cleaner into my brain vat, and I’ll tell you everything I know, just please let me go…” pleaded Doctor 0. Abernathy considered it for a second and let go of the robot’s neck-equivalent.

 

“Oh thank god you didn’t kill me. You nearly killing me with your inferior robot arms hurt my thrusters. AND MY FEELINGS!”

 

“Listen, Zero, you’re the _pendejo_ who by association agreed to let me get these implants for something as petty as gun spinning. So you better tell me what’s going on with this new facility Muggy’s blathering about or out comes the goddamn moonshine.”

 

“Fine! You want _me_ to tell you simply because that failure of a robot-”

 

“ _FUCK YOU, TOO_ ,” cried a muffled voice from upstairs.

 

“-told you to. You’re better off asking Klein, it was him who found that backup holotape.” The robot rolled his eyes, which he achieved by having the image on the monitor circle around the way one moves a pasted image around with a mouse.

  
“And what the hell was in the holotape, Zero?” said Abernathy, tapping her steel-toed derby shoes impatiently.

 

“It was a bunch of hypothetical quantum drivel. Hearsay about a ‘portal device’ to other worlds. I think it’s juvenile if you ask me. It’s about as plausible as astrology. Besides, if there even was alternate universes, I’m sure that one of them would have sent over some sort of robotic emissary to greet us.”

 

“Or kill us all, Doc Zero.”

 

“Hmm. Reasonable conclusion, human. If you’re so worried about that idiotic remnant of presumably Mobius’s old ramblings, then go right ahead. I’ll even mark it on your Pip-Boy.”

 

Abernathy nodded. “Much appreciated, Zero. Just… please let me know in advance before you raise buildings n’ crap, ‘kay?”

 

“WE WILL VERY MUCH TRY,” blared a voice from a different part of the room.

 

“@##$%(()@@&**(),” buzzed a distinct other voice from another part of the room.

 

“YES. Pre-emptive strikes are a certified strategy against those damn commies.” said yet another voice.

  
“ _We will indeed, little teddy bear_ ,” said as yet another, more uncomfortably sexual female voice.

 

“Oh, so now you people talk, but not when I’m being throttled by the human. Real nice of my colleagues-”

 

Abernathy quickly decided to vacate the premises before she would be beholden to yet another meaningless argument between the brains.

* * *

 

Abernathy left her Big Empty abode with a relatively light load. She had her beloved Hunting Revolver that she named Scarlett resting at her hip, her glasses were as polished as her shoes, and in her pocket lay a few stimpaks and a prickly pear fruit she snagged from the Biological Research Station to snack on the way there. Given that the project had seemingly started the day before, she was confident that it wouldn’t be overrun with overly annoying robots, and if it were, populated solely by weak-ass Protectrons. She was confident that there were also no Robo Scorpions or Cazadors to annoy her this time around, having spent the past week meticulously eradicating the both of them from the premises to make future visits a little bit easier.

 

As such, the walk to this new facility was rather uneventful. There was only a few interruptions from a few Lobotomites, but they fell quickly to a peppering of revolver shots. When she arrived at the freshly built Q-42 Quantum Research Facility, Abernathy was moderately unimpressed at how… bland it was. It was a blocky, futuristic building similar to those around it, but there was no interesting ruins or any kind of symbolic graffiti left behind by that strange Ulysses fellow she had kept hearing about. It was actually kinda frustrating, how unimpressive it was.

 

Making her way in, she found the facility pristine. She hated it. It was strange to wander throughout the ruins of once lived-in domiciles and then be faced with an actually clean room. As she scanned the perimeter, everything was in place. There was not a single paper, paperclip, or coffee mug out of order or strewn across the floor. Closer inspection of the papers showed no data, which Abernathy attributed to the facility being assembled (somehow) yesterday.

 

“It’s too damn clean here. Never thought I’d say that.”

 

Abernathy realized that she hadn’t exactly questioned as to why or how the Think Tank was able to build a new facility as she walked down to the surprisingly spacious basement area of Q-42. Clearly, the recentness of the facility was more obvious here, with walls not built by natural stone nonexistent and the area being mostly a dusty clearing connected with only a scaffolding staircase up to the surface. It was here that Abernathy found something of interest.

 

Lying on the ground illuminated by two lonely mining lights was a small device reminiscent of the Sonic Emitter, gripped by a gaunt corpse in a lab coat. Abernathy approached the device with caution, and briefly wondered of the identity of this strange man who somehow died in a place that appeared just yesterday. As she came closer she saw that the corpse, topped with a head of shocking light blue, was lying on top of another corpse, a smaller one. Abernathy concluded that this corpse, seemingly of a child, must have been the device-holder’s travel companion. The child wore a yellow shirt, and its face seemed to call upon images of someone named Eric Stoltz. Abernathy didn’t know anyone named Eric Stoltz, or why that name conjured up images of a mask, but she shrugged it off.

 

Against her better judgement, Abernathy snatched the device from the corpse’s hand, and was only mildly horrified when the hand followed with it. She shook the hand off and began to inspect the device. It indeed resembled the Sonic Emitter she had received months ago from the Think Tank, but instead of light bulbs, the Emitter appeared to have vials of greenish glowing liquid in vials along the side. Curious to see what it did, Abernathy reasoned that if this thing was like the Sonic Emitter, it by all means functioned as a gun of some kind.

 

But why was it here?

 

Abernathy decided to test it out. In typical DeLaerie fashion, she holstered Scarlett in the spare revolver holster on her back (because a woman can never be satisfied with but one revolver) and replaced the hunting revolver with the emitter. If she was going to test this thing out, she was going to test it out right. And by test it out right, she meant see how it spins and then shoot it.

 

Using her cybernetically augmented forearms and hands, she deftly drew the Emitter, spinning it in the air like an alien pinwheel. After taking her sweet time doing gun tricks for absolutely nobody, Abernathy took a shot at the large rock wall meters away from her.

 

*CLICK*

 

Nothing.

 

Absolutely nothing.

 

“Zero was actually right. This place was a goddamn dud-”

 

*FWOOOOOSH*

 

The rock wall she had been aiming at before had disintegrated to reveal an astounding sight. It was a swirling vortex that could channel the night sky, a black hole of light and stars. If it wasn’t actively sucking Abernathy in towards her potential death she would be amazed, but since the former was indeed happening, Abernathy decided the best course of action would be to book it, dropping the device that was not the portal device but rather its activator onto the ground with the impersonality of someone who is running from their death. Which, to be fair, was true.

 

As fast as she was, Abernathy was no match for the massive attractive force exerted by the portal. The corpses she had seen earlier had already been sucked through, and no Mojave sandstorm stood up to the buffeting storm of gravel and debris that battered against the Courier. She was only barely able to reach the bending staircase before losing her footing.

 

As she hurtled through the air towards the portal, Abernathy’s last thoughts were of her dear Mojave, the friends she had made, and a swearing of newfound revenge to haunt the everloving crap out of the Think Tank for finally being the death of her.

 

And then there was white.


	3. Can't Help Falling

“So, madame, you finally seem to be awake.”

 

Abernathy awoke with a start on a strangely comfortable bed, shooting upright with her hand also shooting to her rear holster, only to find nothing.

 

“Madame, what you’re looking for is on the table over there.” The speaker, a tall man in a mahogany suit and brown longcoat, motioned to a table across the room. Upon said table lay an impeccably decorated revolver, engraved with the words “ _Aces Wild”_ on the barrel. “You know, firearms have been outlawed in Unova since ‘87.”

 

“Unova? Look, guy, I’m not keen on having some strange suited man steal my weapons while I sleep, so before I sock in you in the face with metal hands you better tell me what’s going on.”

 

“Ah, yes. Call me Looker. I’m a police agent for-”

 

“Lemme guess. You NCR?” Abernathy was met with a confused expression.

 

“... Interpol. I know you have many questions-”

 

“You’re goddamn right I’ve got questions.”

 

“... and I will answer them. But first, we must get introductions in order. What is your name, and where are you from.”

 

Abernathy grumbled but did as the strange man said. “Name’s Abernathy. People call me Courier Six but I haven’t delivered a letter for a whole year. I’m a New Vegas woman through and through.”

 

“New Vegas.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Looker sighed. “Can you point to it on this map, madam?” he said, showing a map on a handheld device. Abernathy shot Looker her own look of confusion, as the map showed a somewhat familiar continent, the welcoming vaguely whale-like shape of continental America. However, there were noticeable differences, and the point Abernathy assumed meant “You are Here” was marked where New York was supposed to be. Hesitantly, she pointed to New Vegas on the holographic map, her finger passing through the translucent surface.

 

“That’s a new way of saying Orre, madame.”

 

“Sir, I’m 100% sure that’s New Vegas, in Nevada.”

 

Looker took a deep breath before standing up from his chair, located next to the bed Abernathy was now sitting on. He began to pace uncomfortably as he tried to find a way to explain to the woman where she was. In the meantime, Abernathy used this conversational break to gauge her surroundings. It was a modest little hotel room, sort of like the ones back in New Vegas, although certain more clean. A desk lay in the corner with papers and pushpin photo webs across its various surfaces, and the scent of coffee wafted from a kitschy little coffeemaker on the minibar.

 

“Do you know where you are, madame?”

 

“New York. Which is strange, because from what I heard New York was decimated in the War.”

 

“You’re in Accumula Town. In the Unova Region.”

 

“I have zero connection to any of those words. All I remember is finding some device and getting sucked into a portal and waking up with my guns taken from me.”

 

Looker perked up at the word _portal_. “I was about to touch on that, madame. You see, you’re something we at Interpol call a Faller. People from other dimensions who wake up here, usually with little to no memories of their past life.”

 

“That… that’s actually a pretty good explanation.”

 

“Anyway, madame, there is one more question I must ask you. Previously, Fallers didn’t need to be asked this question, but as of late we of the Ultra Wormhole Task Force are now mandated to ask this: Do you know what Pokemon are?”

 

“... Po-key-man?”

 

“Pokemon.”

 

“Yeah, no.”

 

Looker sighed once again. “This may take a while. Luckily, this hotel room we’re in has a DVD player still, which means I can play this tape Interpol gave me for situations like these! It’s only kind of condescending!” He feigned a smile, and Abernathy realized that the last comment may have been some sort of attempt at humor. She gave a slight pity chuckle in response.

 

* * *

 

_The following is a script excerpt from the 1994 educational film, “Pokemon & You: A Primer on Readjusting to the World of Pokemon”. Initially meant for sheltered children and cult escapees, the film is still widely used by Interpol due to its informative nature, though it certainly suffers in the aesthetic department. _

 

(mild, clean hip-hop beat)

 

GRAPHIC: Title Card - Pokemon & U

 

Scene: canvas set with various jazzy patterns strewn throughout, bearing a table and nondescript block.

 

PROF. OAK: Yo, yo, yo, fellow teens! It is I, hip and cool Pokemon Professor Samuel Oak, or as the kids on the street call me, “Big Poppa S”! _(cue: endearing and non-gang-affliated hand signs)_

Note: We are not keeping this. Tell Samuel that he cannot keep making up these nicknames or i am revoking his writing privileges on his project.

 

(star effect) (reveal animated character “BULBY”)

 

BULBY: Whoa, gnarly, dudes and dudettes! Oh, man, it’s Poppa S-Dogg!

Note: add effects here? Needs more zooming in.

2nd Note: DO NOT.

 

PROF. OAK: Radical! Our good friend Bulby the Cool Bulbasuar is here to help me explain to you, the impressionable [children between the ages of 3-7 in addition to cult members] ready to learn about Pokemon. But just what are Pokemon?

 

(cue: quirky stills of confused OAK and BULBY with question marks)

 

PROF. OAK: Our wiggity-wiggity wild planet we call home, is home to not only just us humans…

 

BULBY: But also Pokemon! Like me, your good marketable friend Bulby the Cool Bulbasaur!

 

PROF. OAK: Yes, Bulby, just as you said. Right there. Right now. Pokemon and humans coexist in totally wicked harmony, and we keep them as both friends, pets, helpers, and combat partners. You see, even in nature Pokemon fight to prove their prowess, so battling Pokemon is simply the way of life.

 

BULBY: Yeah!

 

_End script excerpt._

* * *

 

As the film’s credits rolled, Abernathy responded with a scowl.

 

“As surprisingly informative as it was, that little Bulby guy pisses me off.”

 

“That’s a common response. Just so you know, madame, Professor Oak is not like that in real life. That was simply a product of the nineties.” He chuckled.

 

“... What, like the 2190’s?” asked Abernathy.

 

“The 1990’s, Miss…”

 

“DeLaerie.”

 

“DeLaerie. The current year is 2017.” Looker’s brow furrowed. “That’s new. Normally time travel isn’t a factor for Fallers last I checked.”

 

“Last I checked it was 2281, yet if I traveled back in time, why is everything more futuristic?”

 

“You mentioned something about a war, correct?”

 

“Well, yeah. There was a big nuclear war years back in my world. Couldn’t go two steps without finding something radiated to hell and back.” At this point Abernathy was now pacing throughout the room, Looker having returned to his seat. She kept her gun on the table, respecting her guest’s (or host’s?) request to keep it safe.

 

“Well, Madam DeLaerie, I’m happy to inform you that we haven’t had such weapons since 1945, and the Pokemon and people responsible is being kept under high security.”

 

“That’s nice to know. So I’m in a place with strange-ass animal things that we can actually coexist with?”

 

Looker nodded. “That is correct.”

 

Abernathy paused. “Sweet.”

 

The agent met the elderly woman’s response with confusion. “Just an hour before, you were quite hesitant to accept you were in this new world.”

 

“Honestly, guy, I’ve been through weirder, and if these creatures aren’t ravenous goddamn hellbeasts like Cazadors then I’m all for it.”

 

“Right. Before I go, Madame Abernathy, I must ask… what is that device around your arm?” said Looker, pointing towards the woman’s Pip-Boy 3000.

 

“This thing? It’s a Pip-Boy. A friend gave it to me after I got shot in the head.”

 

Looker looked at her. “You seem to be a woman of many stories.”

 

“I know. Anyway, this thing’s got a journal, a health monitor, inventory manager, radio, and Geiger counter rolled into one moderately light wrist-mounted package.”

 

“Huh. I wouldn’t want to invade on your privacy, especially for someone new to this dimension like you Abernathy, but may I take a look at this ‘Pip-Boy’. By which I mean, take it back to home base?”

 

Abernathy dwelled on that question for a while. “What’s in it for me?”

 

“Well, Interpol gets information on new dimensions and whatever tech you may have had in your world through whatever notes you may have taken, and in exchange, I can give you this Interpol Office-”

 

“This is a hotel room.”

 

“INTERPOL OFFICE, as well as a starter Pokemon and a Pokedex. You can be like those kids in _Pokemon & U _, except not nearly as obnoxious.”

 

“You do realize I’m like sixty. Those kids were at least ten.”

 

“Well, they never say it’s too late to start.”

 

“True. Fine, here’s my Pip-Boy,” said Abernathy, activating the biometric lock and handing the device over to Looker.

 

“Thank you. I’ll be back in a week. In the meantime, you can stay here, and I’ll talk to the higher-ups to see if they can snag you a Pokedex from the Professor next town over.”

 

“Is it Professor Oak? Or should I say, S-Dogg?” Abernathy snarked.

 

Looker chuckled back. “No, and besides, Oak would have Interpol’s hide if he knew we still had that tape. Her name is Aurea Juniper. Fine woman, her father was quite the Professor in his time as well. Oh, and speaking of Pokemon, we found this little lady by the river where we fished you up.”

 

He extended his arm to hand Abernathy a sphere, half-red, half-white, and locked with a circular locking mechanism. For some reason, she felt the urge to reach into her pocket to get the prickly pear she had stashed there.

 

“Just press the button.”

 

As she pressed the button, the sphere popped open, and in a streak of dull red light, a creature materialized. It appeared to be a spherical plant-thing, with a little yellow flower crown and arms the size of its stubby body. It looked like a cactus mixed with a jack-o’-lantern, and it was staring at Abernathy in the face.

 

 _“This is weird”_ , said the cactus. _“This isn’t the desert._ ” Wait. Did the plant just talk?

 

“Looks like Cacnea’s already making a good relationship with you already!”

 

“Looker, do Pokemon normally talk? Because this thing just talked to me.”

 

Looker stared at Abernathy with incredulity. “Looks like I still need to talk.”


	4. Direct Action

“Madame Abernathy, in Interpol and its associates’ research into the Ultra Wormhole phenomenon, we’ve seen patterns **.** As of late Fallers have been showing newfound powers, those they didn’t have in their home dimension.”

 

“Like Superman?”

 

“Yes, like Superman, in a way. We don’t know what causes these changes. Our current hypothesis is in fact like the Superman story, where the abilities of one world that could be considered normal are now superpowers in this world. Still, we’re not sure.”

 

“Is talking to animals part of those ‘superpowers’?” asked Abernathy. “When I was in my world I couldn’t talk to giant-ass geckoes or the Nightstalkers. Not that they would’ve had anything interesting to say.”

 

“ _ I’m also kind of curious as to why I can talk to her, _ ” asked the Cacnea. Abernathy flinched, still not used to being able to speak to animals.

 

“The only animal I could kinda speak to was REX, and he was like 60% robot.”

 

Looker decided to not ask for details on that, adding that to his ever-growing list of curiosities associated with this strange Orre woman. “Well, yes. A lot of times this comes in the form of Aura Manipulation, Psychic powers, and the like, but the most common side effect is being able to speak to Pokemon.”

 

“I’m going to guess that this isn’t a very rare thing, speaking to Pokemon.”

 

“No, it really is remarkable! Not many people have the ability to fluently speak to Pokemon without years of lessons, and a lot of times they get it wrong.”

 

“Then am I like a Psychic or an Aura guy?”

 

“Sadly, no. You see, my badge is has a small device we use to detect those with traces of aura or Psychic leanings, usually to gauge if our enemies or targets have any of these powers. I can explain later what these powers are, but you need not worry. You have neither.”

 

“Aww,” groaned Abernathy.

 

“ _ Aww, _ ” groaned the Cacnea. Abernathy flinched again, less so this time. “ _ What? I’m just as confused as you are, ‘madame’,” _ replied the cactus, punctuating the “madame” with a faux-Kalosian accent. To be fair, Abernathy would’ve done the same if she had been the one saying it

 

“I’m starting to grow on this thing, y’know. Starting. Key word there.”

 

“I’m sure that this power would be useful, and since I know you like helping people, maybe on the journey you so want to do you could make use of your powers.”

 

“Huh. I’ve encountered feds like you in the NCR but you seem awfully lenient for, y’know, a police agent? You’re going to let me, who need I remind you woke up at least a few hours ago, go out with my fancy powers that are apparently extremely cool and rare?”

 

“Madame Abernathy, you are not the only Faller to make such a request, or receive one. You are also not the only Faller with your powers. We’ve found it hard to keep the Fallers we monitor from using their powers, almost impossible actually, so we over at Interpol have sort of given in.”

 

“Given in?”

 

“We let them do what they want provided it’s not illegal, i.e. organized crime or murder, and the only catch is that they can’t reveal they’re Fallers.”

 

“And if they don’t, they whack ‘em, right?” Abernathy said, brow cocked.

 

“Was Gott verhuute, Madame Abernathy! We may be an international police force, but publicly we wouldn’t do such abhorrent things.”

 

“Publicly.”

 

“We just contact the offender, pull some strings from our men in the media business, and make sure it never happens again.”

 

“There’s the fed in ya. Knew it was there,” said Abernathy, slapping Looker on the back in a friendly manner. Looker recoiled in pain from the force of the metal against his spine. “Sorry. Metal hands ‘n all.”

 

Looker wheezed. “Why… do you have those…”

 

“Gun spinning.”

 

“Right.” He got back to his composed form and fashioned himself by the door. “I’m running late, Madame Abernathy, so I’m afraid our time together must temporarily conclude. It would be best for you to stay within town and bond with your Pokemon until I return in a few days.”

 

“I can’t use my guns, of course.”

 

“No, you cannot. I will let you have them mainly because you seem to prize them, but I want no reports of you shooting the thing. And please, try not to have any incidents requiring cover-up.”

 

Abernathy nodded. “Got it. You can count on me.”

 

“Well, Madame Abernathy, it was nice to meet-” Looker’s speech was interrupted by a scream resounding from the opened door.

 

“AAAAAAIIIEEEEEE!!!”

 

“IT’S TEAM PLASMA!”

 

“MOMMY, THEY TOOK PURRLOIN!”

 

Abernathy got to her feet in an instant, grabbing her gun. “Someone needs help!” she declared, sprinting for the door but being stopped by the police agent, who blocked her from passing through.

 

“Abernathy! What did I just say!?”

 

Abernathy calmed down for a quick second. She pondered in that quick second before putting a firm hand on Looker’s shoulder, looking him dead in the eyes.

 

“Looker, I know you told me to not have an incident, but there is no way in hell you are going to stop me from helping someone in need.”

 

Looker opened his mouth but was interrupted. “And I know what you’re going to say: ‘It’s too dangerous for someone as old as you’ or some bureaucratic nonsense about having to do some goddamn papers. Sometimes they may be right. And other times, you can be wrong. Such as right now, when I’ve already gotten behind you while I’ve been speaking to you.”

 

Wait. What? 

 

Looker blinked and realized that Abernathy had indeed somehow gotten past him. Damn it. As he looked hurriedly from the hotel’s second floor balcony, he caught a glimpse of a brown duster and a blood red beret in the parking lot, a Cacnea gripping tightly to the tails of the duster. 

 

“Mein gott, she’s fast.”

* * *

 

The Cacnea wasn’t exactly sure where she was, but she was certainly having fun. It was kinda like being in a rollercoaster, or walking really fast on a broken rollercoaster. Either way, it was exciting.

 

“ _ So where exactly are we going, ‘Madame’? _ ” asked Cacnea.

 

“Don’t call me that. We’re going to save the goddamn day.”

 

_ “Is that what you normally do, lady? _ ”

 

“You could say that.”

 

The two were running, really fast, to the source of the cries for help. The source it turned out would be at the town square. Already there was a small crowd of people in the square, gawking at the display with lenses both physical and mechanical documenting the event. At the center of the action was a group of people, clad in military garb marked with the black and white shield insignia of Team Plasma. Of course, Abernathy didn’t know they were Team Plasma, but based on the fact that they were holding what they presumed to be other people’s Pokeballs in a sealed container and pointing guns at anyone who tried getting near, she could tell they were bad  _ hombres _ . 

 

As she made her way through the crowd, she heard the sound of feedback from a megaphone, held by a middle-aged man with green hair. He looked like he was wearing a long black cape. He was wearing all black, to be fair.

 

“Attention, you plebians of Accumula Town! Two years ago, I came here to speak of our organization’s previous drivel of ‘freeing Pokemon’ and cruelty and other fake nonsense we spoke of in the past. You were right in seeing through that flimsy veil. Our previous leader, my bastard of a son N, has fled the region like the whelp he is.”

 

“And you may ask why I stand here today, vulnerable to authorities. Well, if your police and Rangers were as brave as they seemed, why do they not fear the might of but a few pieces of metal and plastic?” The caped man motioned and the grunts with guns began thrusting the barrels of their rifles at the crowd, who recoiled in fear.

 

“You can’t get away with this, you bastards.”

 

“Ah, but I can. I, Ghetsis, know the power of fear. How fear can be used against the masses. So, you damned millenials on your devices filming this right now, listen up! Team Plasma will prevail! When I harness the power of the Tao Beasts there shall be no stopping me, but even now the people of Unova cower before me. And to think Unova prides itself on being brave.”

 

Abernathy was seething.  _ “Shouldn’t we do something? _ ” asked her Cacnea companion. She was right. What was she going to do? 

 

“You’re a goddamn fascist!” shouted a man in the crowd.

 

“A fascist I am not, wretch. But a dictator gets results. Men and Pokemon are but tools in my plan for domination. And there will be no one. No one here is brave enough to stop-”

 

It happened in a flash. Abernathy couldn’t take this crap any longer. No world deserved a dictatorship. She didn’t eradicate Caesar’s Legion with only a two-man army to have Sallow’s proto-fascist BS appear in this day and age. Her legs were fluid, moving on their own, but the following actions were all Abernathy.

 

* * *

 

**Team Plasma Leader Punched by Stranger**

**_By Alexa Parker_ **

 

_ [ _ **_Ghetsisgetslaidout.mp4]_ **

 

**(UNN)** \- Team Plasma Leader and self-admitted fascist Ghetsis was punched in the face during a highly publicized Team Plasma attack in Accumula Town.

 

Videos posted online by bystanders show a 60-year-old woman in a dark duster and red beret bursting from the crowd as Ghetsis was speaking to the crowd, gathered after the stealing of many of their own or their loved ones’ Pokeballs.

 

Ghetsis was answering a bystander’s accusation of being a fascist when the woman, whose identity remains anonymous, interrupted the speech.

 

As he spoke, the woman socked him in the face, with what appears to be a hand of metal. The assailant then stood there for about 10 seconds before fleeing the scene, not saying a word during the entire encounter.

 

Neither Ghetsis nor his assailant were brought into custody, Ghetsis having seemed to teleport away as seen in the above footage. Interpol agents are looking into the source location of the Team Plasma teleporter. However, medical analysis of footage taken from the scene shows that the Plasma admin sustained serious damage to the jaw.

 

“If anything, it’ll sure shut him up,” said medical analyst D. Hoswer. “I mean seriously, that was ****ing sweet.”

 

Meanwhile, the unknown assailant has found viral fame on the Internet, as “Granny Fash-Basher” or most recently as “Falcon Grandma”, after Super Smash Brothers character Captain Falcon and his most famous attack. Multiple remixes, parodies, and other forms of media since the initial news report. However, the mystery assailant remains a mystery, though sources do put her location in Accumula Town, where the incident occurred.

 

Team Plasma has not made any official statements regarding the incident. Team Plasma has before denied any intentions of fascism, but has recently overhauled their image since their last period of prominence during the 2015 attack on the Unova Pokemon League.

* * *

  
  


“Hi! You must be Aurea Juniper. Name’s Abernathy, this is my Cacnea. I was told you could give me a place to hide.” The woman smiled awkwardly.

 

The Professor sighed. “Looker told me you’d be coming. Come on in.”


	5. Trapped in the Closet

_ 3 hours earlier _

 

“Abernathy, as someone who has to act professional, I don’t say this very often, and I’m not a native Unovan speaker, but there’s one reaction that is consistent throughout the world and that is ‘ _ What the fuck’. _ ”

 

The two were standing in the supply room of Route 1’s Pokemart. Certainly it was nicer than the various Terrible Herbsts and Petro Chicos that peppered the Mojave, but then again it was pretty much the same layout without it being trashed by raiders and the passage of time. Plus, as Abernathy was currently discovering, the chips weren’t irradiated either.

 

Looker looked at the bag of chips in Abernathy’s hands with a resigned expression. “Should I ask where you got that bag of onion chips?” Looker felt that the cheesy cartoon Celebi on the bag was mocking him.

 

“Don’t worry, I paid for it,” replied the Courier, motioning towards a pile of bottle caps on a half-empty box of Yumyons. Her Cacnea sat next to the box, eating her own little bag of chips. 

 

“ _ These are good,” _ said the Cacnea, putting the crunchy chips in her mouth-hole-things.

 

“I didn’t think I’d have to lecture you on the nature of currency, but that’s not the issue at hand right now. What  _ is _ the issue at hand is you punching a very powerful individual in the face in public.”

 

“Granted, he was a fascist.”

 

“Yes, I agree that Ghetsis is a fascist, and Interpol is trying its hardest to capture him and bring him to justice for his crimes. I know that in your world, where Pokemon don’t exist, people solve issues that kind of way-”

 

“The right way.”

 

“Here, we do things with Pokemon battles. With our Pokemon.” Looker was fuming, but Abernathy kept intermittently munching on her bag of chips. “We don’t solve our issues by walking up to them and breaking their jaw, even if they’re fascists!”

 

She crinkled her bag and placed it in her pocket. “Looker, if you didn’t notice, those men had guns. They were pointing them at innocent people. Who’s to say they weren’t going to do the same to Pokemon?”

 

Looker couldn’t really argue with that. “Look, Madame DeLaerie, I know you mean well, and if I weren’t a police agent I’d do the same thing. But you can’t keep doing these to all these trainers, especially for someone who wants to do the Gym Challenge!”

“Look, I can’t be watching you forever. I have other missions to do. I’m escorting you to Professor Juniper.”

 

Abernathy sighed. “Fine.”

 

“Look, I’d congratulate you but I’m still a police officer. I have to uphold the law. You could have killed Ghetsis, which I know would have saved us a lot of time, but at the same time would have led to your arrest. For murder!” Looker was pacing as he yelled, though it was more of a shuffle given the cramped nature of the storage room.

 

“And besides that, if you did kill Ghetsis, Team Plasma could very well by a Hydra situation. Simply cutting, or punching, off the head of the dragon would likely only lead to an even worse leader capable of even more harm!”

 

Abernathy stopped eating her chips at that comment. Looker was actually right there. She remembered storming through the Fort, Boone and ED-E in tow as she put a bullet into the skull of Caesar. But the memory of what happened afterwards, the talk with Arcade and the realization that the murder of Caesar would only lead to the appointment of Lanius, a man more vile in personality and rage than Sallow ever was. How the rise of Lanius, and in turn the increased bravado and brutality of the Legion from that point forward was the result of her own actions. 

 

“I get it, Looker. I just… wasn’t thinking straight.”

 

“No, Madame Abernathy, you were on the right track. But things outside of our control won’t let it be.” He motioned to the door. “Now let’s go. We have to remain undercover due to your meme status.”

 

“Meme?” asked Abernathy as she solemnly followed Looker out the door. As soon as she said that, the twentysomething behind the counter of the Pokemart shot up, eyes aglow as he clutched a sizable mountain of bottlecaps.

 

“Oh my Arceus, it’s Falcon Grandma! I just got a free League Hat from Falcon Grandma!” The clerk dropped the pile of caps, which turned against his favor as he slipped on them in a rather comical fashion. Looker was thankful that the clerk was able to get a grip on the counter and not slam down on his face, lest he have to deal with another PR issue regarding his companion.

 

“Oh, like that. I guess we’re running now?”

 

“Yes, Madame Abernathy, we are.”

 

And run they did.

Looker had bid Abernathy farewell once they had made their way to Nuvema Town, leaving her with a burner phone number to contact him. Granted, there had to be a brief explanation as to what a cellphone was, and also what a burner phone was, but that specific talk turned out faster than expected. So Looker was off, and here we return to where we left off, in front of Professor Juniper’s lab.


	6. Simple Instruction Pt. 1

“So you’re Abernathy DeLaerie, or should I say, Falcon Grandma.”

 

The two women were sitting in Juniper’s living room, located on the second floor of the facility. Juniper had a cup of strong black coffee sitting in front of her that Abernathy could distinctly smell, though this coffee lacked the scent of tobacco like the ones from Zion. Why was coffee made with tobacco there anyway? Coffee grounds still existed, albeit mildly irradiated, so why was tobacco necessary? Regardless of the contents of whatever coffee existed here or there, they were in a spacious living space with a certainly modern aesthetic. It reminded Abernathy of the Lucky 38 in a way, mainly how clean it was. Then again, it was a lab.

 

“Honestly, I feel like I need to buy you a cold hard drink for punching Ghetsis straight in the face.” A pleased smile came upon Aurea’s face, though in a solemn pleasure.

 

“I’ve been getting that a lot recently.”

 

“I’m sure you have. Team Plasma has been known for doing vile, reprehensible actions such as the incident over at Accumula Town. And as a Pokemon Professor, for these so-called liberators I’m a prime target. They’ve attacked my home and stolen more starters and research Pokemon than I can count.” Professor Juniper’s voice wavered at the final sentence, but she kept her composure.

 

“I’ve always wanted to do that to that bastard. So I thank you for that.”

 

Abernathy tipped her beret. “Always happy to help people out.”

 

“You’re a good woman, Miss DeLaerie.” She took a long draw of her coffee mug. “But congratulations aren’t why you’re here. I’m here to teach you the basics of Pokemon.”

 

“Juniper, I saw that holotape, I think I have an understanding of how this place works by now.”

 

“You mean  _ Pokemon & U _ ? That old thing?” She chuckled. “I can’t believe Interpol is still using that tape. My father was supposed to destroy all copies of that tape after it was released in Unova. He didn’t, of course, because Interpol made digital copies because they thought it was useful. Oak… doesn’t speak to my dad anymore.

 

“Yeah, ‘cause it sucks.”

 

“I  _ know _ . Isn’t it great? Anyways, that piece of ‘90s garbage has nothing on the training of a genuine Pokemon Professor.”

 

“Hmm. Understandable. I mean, no amount of Guns & Bullets magazines could ever teach me how to do this,” said Abernathy, drawing her gun (taking care to show there were no bullets within) and doing a fantastic display of gun-spinnery.

 

“That’s really cool and thank you for not having any ammo in it. I didn’t really understand the specifics of that analogy but you got the message on the dot. Looker also told me to give you shelter due to your meme status, so I’ll divide up the lessons over the week instead of one 6-hour block like I normally do with new Trainers.”

 

“Thanks for that. I don’t know if I would’ve had the patience for dealing with 6 hours of lessons.”

 

“You seem to be a direct action type of woman, Abernathy.”

 

“Yeah. So are memes like titles? Back home they called me Six. Courier Six. I don’t know if that’s a meme or not.”

 

“Is it spread around on the internet?”

 

“No. We don’t have an internet. I didn’t even know how you guys had computers without vacuum tubes until Looker introduced me to the concept of microchips.”

 

“I would’ve thought most people would’ve discovered the uses of silicon by then.”

 

“Pre-War America had a boner for nuclear crap.”

 

“Ah. Anyways, it’s kind of like that. People make pictures, fanart, that kind of thing. ‘Six’ is like a title, as is ‘Falcon Grandma’, and I guess both carry the same gravitas as a title of a hero.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

“We can start the lessons tomorrow,” said Juniper, looking at the clock on the wall. 12:00 AM. Christ, it is late, thought Abernathy. 

 

“You just drank coffee, though.”

 

“I’ve got work to do. As a professor my work never really ends, but I know other people need sleep. Don’t worry, I do sleep.”

 

“Yeah, thanks.”

 

So Abernathy made her way to the guest room, the Pokeball of the Cacnea (who Juniper was more than welcome to show Abernathy how to return back into her Pokeball) safe on her belt. It was completely coincidental that the mostly ornamental shotgun shells on her bandolier belt happened to have the exact diameter of a shrunken Pokeball, but Abernathy paid no mind to it. All she wanted to do now was to rest. 

 

And rest she did.

 

**Day 1: Knowing your Pokemon**

 

Breakfast was had and now the two women were outside. Mostly reluctantly, though. Juniper had to schedule her lessons in the morning before any prospective trainers necessitated her presence back at the lab and thus was awake earlier than she normally was. The secret to her awake state, as she told Abernathy, was a strong concoction of equal parts coffee grounds and powdered Tapu Cocoa, put through an espresso machine. The Courier was keen to take notes.

 

Outside was the requisite beginner’s training grounds, a marked space semi-resembling a tennis court without a net, bearing the notable Pokeball shape in the middle. It was a dirt court, surrounding ¾ by forest and the remainder by the stucco walls of the lab. As it was about 5:00 in the goddamn morning, no trainer nor Pokemon dared to be awake at the moment, aside from some pretty brave Noctowl and Murkrow.

 

“You look like crap, Aurea.”

 

“Thanks. Today’s lesson will be on establishing a connection with your Pokemon. Based on what Looker has told me you haven’t actually established a connection with your Cacnea.”

 

Abernathy took some time to digest the comment. “You’re kinda right.”

 

“Do you have a name for your Pokemon at least? Most people give nicknames to their Pokemon, but it’s not exactly necessary.”

 

“What if I see another person with a Cacnea and I call its name?”

 

“They’ll know the difference.”

 

Abernathy felt like she needed to give her Pokemon a name. It just felt right to her for some reason. Now, she was normally the type to give random names to things. Hell, she named an especially annoying tumbleweed “Tim” for no reason in particular. And Fisto was just a shortening of the robot’s regular name. But this was her first starter. It was like meeting ED-E for the first time, except ED-E had a name. This was going to be hard.

 

“Well,, this little lady seemed to be in my pocket where I had my snack, a piece of pear, so I guess… Perry? That can be a girl name, right?”

 

“Perry? I guess that can work.”

 

“Not going to tell me that wasn’t the name you would’ve chosen?”

“What?”

 

“Sorry. Inside joke with the last doctor I used to work with.”

 

“You can tell me that at lunch, or maybe breakfast. Well, let’s take little Perry out, shall we?” said Professor Juniper, motioning her hand towards Abernathy’s belt. 

 

With the dextrous speed of a man with no name, Abernathy “drew” her Pokeball the same way one would do for a revolver, spinning it at lightning speed with her steel fingers. It would’ve been a spectacular display if after throwing the Pokeball it had actually opened.

 

“Goddamnit,” muttered Abernathy as she awkwardly walked over to the Pokeball and clicked it open manually. In a specter of red light materialized the Cacnea, newly christened as Perry.

 

Immediately, Perry let out a little yawn. [“It’s, like, really early ‘Madame’, so you better have a good reason for waking me up at this time.”]

 

“Rise and shine, Perry. That’s your name now. We gotta learn stuff from the nice professor lady over there, yeah?”

 

Another yawn, a spiky arm held up to mouth holes. [“Fine, I guess.”]

 

“Also, can you quit calling me Madame? Maybe ma’am would be better, but I’m Abernathy. I realize we haven’t introduced ourselves.” The Courier held out a hand.

 

[“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,”] said Perry, holding up a spiked hand for display. [“Given, y’know, all this.”]

 

“Metal hands.”

 

[“I see.”]

 

Juniper made a very conspicuous coughing noise. “ _ If _ you don’t mind, we still have a lesson to do. I’ve got about 1.5 hours before the Cocospresso crashes, and believe me it crashes  _ hard _ , but we’ve got to talk about your Pokemon.”

 

“So, you’re Pokemon, technically your starter, is something called a Cacnea.” She pulled out an object that resembled a long holotape, which Looker had previously informed Abernathy was something called a Pokedex.

 

“Oh, hey, Looker was supposed to tell you to give me one ‘a those things or something.”

 

“This is a Pokedex, and yes, we are getting you one. Yours will be special, though, so you won’t be getting it until Looker returns, which is at the end of the week. What this device does is scan Pokemon. Tells you helpful information gathered collectively by hundreds of young exploring trainers.”

 

“Aren’t most trainers like 10 years old, though?”

 

“It sends the info back to the lab, and me and my assistants use the data and sift through all data, useful or not, to create one unified database on the specimen. Believe me, a lot of it is memes, and not like your meme. Let’s try it out on your Cacnea.”

 

Juniper positioned herself at a respectable distance from the Cacnea, and then clicked the device into an “on” position, marked by a faint jingle. Abernathy half-expected some kind of sweeping wave laser to be projected from the Pokedex, but was disappointed when nothing of the sort happened. There was another chime, and in a very secretary-like digital voice, the Dex began to speak.

 

“ **_Cacnea_ ** _ , the Cactus Pokemon. Cacnea lives in arid locations such as deserts. It releases a strong aroma from its flower to attract prey. When prey comes near, this Pokemon shoots sharp thorns from its body to bring the victim down _ . _ ” _

 

[“That kinda tingled a little bit,”] said Perry.

 

“ _ Origin: Error, location [Mojave Wasteland] unknown. Sending error report to lab. _ ” Juniper took on a puzzled expression. 

 

“What?”

 

“Oh, yeah, I’m like 66% sure that Perry came from a piece of prickly pear in my pocket from my home dimension. Is that normal?”

 

“If I were Professor Burnet, I’d say maybe. Otherwise, no. That’s really unlikely. I can ask you over lunch exactly the detail, maybe get the Faller researcher herself on the line, but let’s… just continue on. Try giving Perry a command.”   
  


“... Like what?”

 

“Like a move. Let me check her moves for you.” Another brief pause, and a ding from the Pokedex.

 

“ _ Cacnea’s moveset is: Poison Sting, Needle Arm, Sucker Punch, Pin Missile. _ ”

 

“Hmm. So these are like Perry’s attacks?”

“Yep. If you need a target, I’ll bring out a Pokemon of my own. Don’t worry about hurting Minccino, he’s pretty used to it by now.” Juniper reached into her coat and pulled out a Pokeball of her own, which opened to reveal a small gray creature with big ol’ ears and big beady eyes.

 

[“Miss Aurea, what time is it?”] said Minccino.

 

“It’s five in the morning. Perry, use uh… Sucker Punch?”

 

[“What’s the magic word?”]

 

“Please?”

 

[“Actually, it was Nabokov, but okay,”] replied Perry. On cue, she pointed a spiked arm towards the rather tired Minccino. Squinting to aim, she fired a thorn in the chinchilla’s general direction, which lodged itself in the ground beneath the Minccino’s paws.

 

[“Yow!”] said Minccino, jumping up in recoil. Unluckily for him, as he jumped he was unable to predict Cacnea running up in his state of surprise and socking the Minccino in the gut with a spiked plant arm.

 

[“ _ Sucker punch, _ ”] said Perry, jumping back to her initial position. [“We’re more alike, Madame, than you think. Seriously though, that was pretty fun. I can see why you socked cape-dude in the jaw a town over.]

 

[S-Son of a bitch…] whimpered Juniper’s Pokemon.

 

“That’s a real creative way of using Sucker Punch, but then again, it’s a Pokemon owned by you.”

 

“Is that some kind of compliment?”

 

“I try. Now, clearly your Pokemon seems to trust you. We’ve had cases of especially difficult starters, or trainers, but you seem to take to battling like a Basculin to water! This’ll be an easy-”

 

Juniper was unable to complete her statement before she collapsed, the Tapu Coco Espresso wearing off earlier than expected. Thankfully, her Minccino, despite still being in extreme pain from the Sucker Punch, managed to catch her.

 

“Should I contact someone or…”

 

[ _ “Yes.” _ ]

 

“I should probably get on that.”

 

And get on that she did.

  
  
  
  



	7. Simple Instruction Pt. 2

**Day 2: Pokemon and Move Types**

 

[“I kinda feel bad for Watchy.”]

 

“I don’t.”

 

It was the day after Juniper’s little fainting spell over in the courtyard, to which both women agreed over dinner never to repeat, by not having such an early morning session. Juniper was able to schedule the next batch of prospective trainers a hour later, and had made calls to her traveling assistant Bianca to stall for time over the latest trainer (some late bloomer from the Decolore Islands) a for the time being so as to allow for a lesson to be had.

 

Right now, Abernathy and Perry were watching quality Unova television. As it was morning, albeit later in the morning than the day earlier, said quality Unovan television was mostly children’s programming. Abernathy didn’t want to admit to her flora-fauna partner that the reason why the channel was stuck on the morning kids TV was because she was confused by the remote, but was able to dodge the question by providing color commentary on the program, which Perry was quick to join in on.

 

Around this time, Professor Juniper made her way into the living room, Xtransceiver in hand as she participated in deep conversation with perhaps some sort of intelligent colleague or scientific contemporary.

 

Or, based on the language used, Juniper’s girlfriend.

 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, Fenny~. I’m sure the move back to Striaton will go at least pretty swell, and besides, we get to see each other more often! Alright, I’ll call you back later. Love you, dreamy!”

 

“That your gal-pal, Aurea?”

 

“Oh, Abernathy! I-I didn’t notice you there… Look, Fennel’s just a friend, okay— “

 

“Don’t worry about, Professor. I’ve had my share of the fairer sex, myself…”

 

* * *

 

 **Novac** , six months earlier.

 

“Arcade, Raul, ED-E, we’re goin’!”

 

Abernathy was buttoning up her shirt as she walked out of the Gibson Scrapyard’s warehouse. Raul was taking his sweet time explaining to Arcade the details of an engine with colorful analogies, as the doctor sat tinkering with his Plasma Defender on a rusted-out car. Both seemed to be really, really bored, having waited there for at least 2 hours, minimum. ED-E was just floating around being the good gender-neutral robot boy he is, happily poking around the junk with his little laser gun.

 

“Abernathy, as your friend and colleague, I have to ask — Why do we always come to this scrapyard every single week? You tend to phrase it as taking a trip to say ‘hi’ to Cliff Broscoe but it seems to always derail back here. What’s going on?” asked Arcade.

 

“Arcade, I know as a doctor and a relatively young guy compared to old bags like yours truly and Abernathy, but I’m pretty sure you can put the pieces together,” replied Raul.

 

“It’s nothing. Just visiting an old friend, is all.” Abernathy whistled inconspicuously.

 

“I mean, Arcade, it’s pretty obvious, what with the leather belts, Mr. New Vegas blasting, and the Nightstalker Squeezin’s on her pants.”

 

“... You’re having sex with Old Lady Gibson, aren’t you?” said Arcade, a cringe adorning his bespectacled mug.

 

“Congratulations, doc! Y’know, would’ve thought your own gaydar would’ve caught onto it on like the 6th or 7th visit, but 13th isn’t that bad.”

 

“I got it at the third visit,” chimed the ghoul.

 

“Thanks, Raul. Real helpful for getting the image of Old Lady Gibson and Abernathy, together, in _coitus_.”

 

“... It was good sex, based on what I heard.”

 

“I don’t need to know, Raul.”

 

[happy beeping noises]

 

“Aw man, ED-E, whaddaya got for us this time?”

 

“I’m still not over this, Abernathy.”

 

“Relax, Arcade. ‘Sides, it’s not like they do this every week.”

 

“But _they do_.”

 

“Yeah, so? Sometimes you gotta put the old hams together sometimes, eh?”

  
“Raul, pardon my crudeness, but you really suck sometimes.”

 

“Happy to be of service, doc.”

 

* * *

 

“Was I supposed to see something there?”

 

“Just a flashback. Anyways, I’m gettin’ by myself, being bi ‘n all, so you’ve got nothing to fear. Not going to like out you or anything.”

 

“That means a lot to me, Abernathy. I know you probably don’t legitmately want to keep watching Watchy Watchog and unnamed host lady, so why don’t we step outside and do our lesson.”

 

[“Does Minccino have any hard feelings still after yesterday, though? I don’t want that to affect the teaching or anything.”] said Perry.

 

Abernathy relayed her partner’s request to the Professor. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m sure he’s not going to be too ticked off, though even without Pokespeech I can tell he’s still kind unhappy about the sucker punch.”

 

“Noted.”

 

“Well, today we aren’t going to be going outside, but rather looking at some diagrams. We’re going over types today.”

 

The professor placed a small object on the table and clicked it on, revealing it to be some sort of projector. Although fancy, Juniper would go on to demonstrate that the device was but a cool, if excessive way to move informative pictures around, like a better and more cooler whiteboard.

 

Floating in the virtual space were 18 blocks in a neat little line, each a different color. Inscribed upon the virtual blocks was a little symbol.

 

“This is a program Bill, a friend of pretty much all of the professors, created to demonstrate Pokemon types. It’s like _Pokemon & U _ in that it’s meant for kids, but it’s still pretty useful, unlike _Pokemon & U _,” said Juniper. She motioned a pointed finger to the off-white block on the front end of line. “Try touching this one.”

 

Abernathy pointed at the cube, only for nothing to happen.

 

“Right, metal hands. Let me get something for that’ll help,” said Professor Juniper. She stood up from her seat across from Abernathy (and in front off the TV, thus assailing Abernathy and Perry with the image of some young actor named Curtis), and made her way to her bedroom. There was a sound of rustling drawers and brief “A-ha!” before Juniper returned to the living room, a pair of presumably special gloves in hand.

 

“This’ll help.”

 

“Are these like special gloves made by top-scientists for people with prostheses?”

 

“No, they’re for using smartphones in the wintertime. These were meant for Fennel, but she doesn’t really go out to begin with, so you can use them for the time being.”

 

Abernathy put on the slick black winter gloves. Comfy. She then touched the eggshell-colored block, and it expanded into big block letters, spelling “NORMAL.” In a tone similar to the Pokedex from before, the device began to speak.

 

“That’s the Normal-type. Most common Pokemon are Normal-type. Not really super strong against anything, but a good source of neutral damage. They can’t hit Ghost-types, but in return Ghost-types can’t hit it. Normal-types are weak to Fighting-type moves, and don’t do much damage to Rock and Steel types.”

 

The device then projected examples of Normal-types.

 

“These look like normal animals. At least, the ones that aren’t mutated. That one just looks like a cat,” said Abernathy, pointing to a grey cat Pokemon labeled “Glameow”.

 

“Oh, those aren’t native here, but in Sinnoh. Our cats here are Dark-type.”

 

“Is Dark-type like always evil or something?”

 

“It’s like a signifier. They can be good and oftentimes they are, but they’re more of the subterfuge type. For example, even though Cacnea is a Grass-type, Sucker Punch is a Dark-type move.”

 

“Understood. So it said that some types were strong and weak against others. How does that work, Aurea?”

 

“Well, a common metaphor is that the type advantage system battling operates upon is sorta of like really complicated rock-paper-scissors. The type relationship that’s most like this would be the three types we generally give as starters: Fire, Water, & Grass.”

 

“Let me guess: Fire burns Grass, Grass is fueled by Water, and Water extinguishes Fire.”

 

A finger snap and point. “Exactly. Of course, when you look more into it, it gets complicated. For example…”

  
The professor made a sweeping motion with her arm, and the images change to a 19x19 spreadsheet, the blocks from before making up the first row and column. Blocks in certain combinations were filled in red or black or gray with 2x, 1x, 1/2x, within.

 

“This seems really complicated.”

 

[“I am also confused.”]

 

“Don’t worry, Abernathy, I’m confused by some of it too. It’s actually quite easy to remember once you get the hang of it though…”

 

* * *

 

“Uh-huh. Okay. Got it, Professor!”

 

A click, and the blonde girl shut off the Xtransceiver. “Okay, Mr. Ishikari, I’m really really sorry about making you have to wait so long to get your starter. Something came up over at the lab that Juniper said was absolutely important and stuff…”

 

The raven-haired trainer, about 25 years of age, held up a palm. “No offense taken, Miss Bianca. As long as these Pokemon are safe and whatnot.” He had Kantonian features, though his accent was purely Unovan, and he seemed to wear an entirely monochrome wardrobe, albeit a rather casual wardrobe at that. His long obsidian hair was pulled back into a ponytail. In short, he was a mix between someone who was probably a mechanic and a samurai.

 

“You wanted the Water-type, Mr. Ishikari, correct?”

 

He put his black baseball cap upon his head. “Call me Kai.”

 

Bianca only quickly glanced at the hat on his head, but what she could make out was some text: “ _Shogo Heavy Industries_ ”.

 

Strange. She’d never heard of that company before. Still, the thought was merely fleeting as she gave the rightmost Pokeball to Kai.

  
“Do you want to name your new Oshawott, Kai?”

 

There was a pause.

 

“Masamune.”


	8. Somebody's Watching Me

**Day 5: The First Catch**

 

[“I like the grass.”]

 

“I’d think a cactus would be more accustomed to sand than grass, Perry.”

 

[“So? Still a Grass-type.”]

 

“True.”

 

Route 1 was exceedingly calm, not because it was a beginner’s path (unless you started in Aspertia, then for some reason it suddenly wasn’t?), but, because Abernathy and Perry were given instructions by some lab assistant to spray themselves with a strange aerosol spray, followed by a jog of exactly 90 steps. Good thing the assistant also provided pedometers.

 

After a rather dull conversation in which the cactus and the Courier tried to argue whether or not that vague shadow in the distance was a bird or just the way the lighting of trees made it seem, Perry noted the appearance of someone coming from over the lab. However, it wasn’t Professor Juniper. In fact…

 

It was the dead man from A-42. His messy head of blue hair, unibrow, grayed skin, and the lab coat, Abernathy was sure that somehow the strange man whose device had brought her to the world of Pokemon had come back to life. Somehow. However, this guy had glasses. Abernathy was well aware of how different people looked without glasses (having once nearly killed Boone after he exited the shower once), so there was a small bit of doubt as to whether or not the Courier was seeing things.

 

[“Abernathy, y’alright?”] asked Perry. Abernathy appreciated that her Pokemon was at least for her safety, though the nature of seeing someone you were sure was dead was probably an experience the Pokemon had not experienced.

 

“You must be Abernathy. Didn’t expect the Professor’s guest to be a old bag like yours truly. Name’s Rick Dyson, but I’d prefer you’d just call me Dyson.” He punctuated his sentences with a slight belch, each containing the familiar scent of whiskey and for some reason absinthe. Clearly booze seemed to be a universal constant.

 

“The Professor’s over in Striaton. Had to attend some kind of moving-back-in party for her girlfriend or something. Anyways, I’m the guy who wrote you the note from before.”

 

“Huh. So I guess you’ll be teaching me how to catch a Pokemon, then?”

 

“That’s exactly right.” He lowered his glasses, confirming Abernathy’s suspicions that this was indeed the same man in terms of appearances. “We will be using _Pokemon_ this time, Miss Falcon Grandma.”

 

A smirk, expectant of some sort of response from Abernathy. It faded into an annoyed frown when said response failed to materialize.

 

“Enough jokes, I guess. Let’s begin the lesson or whatever,” said Rick. “Now, the thing I had you put on yourself is something called a Repel. It’s useful because it allows you to avoid having to deal with low-level random trying to mob your ass every three seconds. I think it’s because it’s derived from Mudsdale piss…”

 

Abernathy and Perry visibly recoiled upon hearing that.

 

[“IT’S PISS?!”]

 

“People treat this like fucking bug spray?!”

 

“Relax, I’m kidding.” A smug smile and a chuckle. “Learned that joke from a Ranger friend of mine. Anyways, in your little panic session you managed to make your Repel wear off, and also get into the tall grass. Usually it’s one or the other but I’ll roll with it. Let me just make myself kno—”

 

He took two steps into the tall grass and was immediately bitten in the leg by a small brown creature with big red eyes. He handled his pain in the most eloquent way possible.

 

“FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT, FUCK!”

 

He vigorously shook his leg until the creature loosened enough to be kicked off of it, flying a few feet away from the scientist.

 

“Okay, lesson’s actually starting now,” snarled Rick.  Clearly, the animal bite was pissing him off. “When you’re in a battle with a piece of shit wild Pokemon, you have the option of using a Pokeball to catch it. Unless you’re some lucky punk or have enough money to buy Quick Balls like some cheating loser, you have to weaken it first. Like so.”

 

He pulled out a white Pokeball from his coat and lobbed it in the general direction of the creature.

 

“Morty! Kick his ass!” yelled Rick, as a beam of red light materialized into…

 

A pathetic-looking purple roach.

 

[“Aw geez, Rick, y-y-’know that this happens, like, every time…”]

“It’s a Wimpod. Professor Kukui from Alola gave it to Juniper as a prank a few years back and she traded it to me. I feel that it’s inadequacy makes me feel better about myself.”

 

Abernathy felt that the Wimpod was also familiar somehow. Of course, Rick’s expletives were making it real hard to focus...

 

The small brown creature’s front teeth took on a yellow glow as it directed its efforts from Rick to the pathetic-looking roach, clamping down hard on the bug’s carapace.

 

[“Intruders aren’t welcome here! Super Fang!”]

 

[“I-I-I can’t handle this Rick! It’s j-just too much!”] said the Wimpod, quickly returning to its Pokeball as quickly as it came out.

 

“Fuck. Okay, so Wimpod have this real fantastic fuckin’ ability called Wimp Out that allows it to wimp out as shown there. Which is nice if you’re going against a strong opponent, but not useful when trying to catch something. Shit.”

 

Suddenly, an idea came to mind. “Abernathy!”

 

“Rick? I think you should get some medical attention, my dude…”

 

“That’s not important right now! You have a Pokemon, don’t ya?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Catch. The. Fucker.”

 

Not wanting to delay the action any further, Abernathy and Perry (who had been watching the humorous exchange of violence with rapt intent) got to action.

 

“Let me scan it for you, first.” Rick pressed a button on a watch beneath his sleeve, calling upon the familiar voice of a Pokedex.

 

_“Patrat. The Scout Pokemon. Extremely cautious, one of them will always be on the lookout, but it won't notice a foe coming from behind.”_

 

“Perfect.” Abernathy straightened her beret, which had no use as there was no need to save on animation. Regardless, it was still pretty damn badass. “Perry, Sucker Punch this rat!”

 

[“You know me too well, Abernathy.”] The cactus’s spiked fist took on a purple hue, and she lunged forward…

 

…and hit nothing.

 

[“Shit.”] The Patrat had moved, but its gaze remained transfixed upon Perry.

 

[“Leer.”] replied the rodent. Abernathy assumed it was a male based on the voice, but could barely make out said voice due to the Patrat’s hyperactive movements around the battlefield.

 

Damn it. Abernathy had to change her strategy for her second battle. Abernathy wasn’t used to battling like this, preferring to use her revolvers… Of course! “Perry, use Pin Missile—”

 

“Got it—”

 

“ — Aim for that nearby lamppost!”

 

Perry nodded. [“Alright! I’m not sure what this will accomplish, but alright!”]

 

Aiming her spiked arms in the Patrat’s general direction, Perry took aim… and fired behind her, towards the lamppost. Abernathy had counted entirely on the luck of the draw, an clearly the cards were on her side this time, as the fired needle ricocheted off the metal post. The Patrat, shocked at the unorthodox method of aiming a Pin Missile, was unable to react and dodge the needle as it struck his chest.

 

[“Yeah!”] Perry and Abernathy both shot their fists in the air in celebration.

 

“Abernathy, you still have to catch the thing!”

 

“Shit, you’re right.” Abernathy canceled her celebration and scurried over to Rick, grabbing the empty Pokeball in his hand before tossing it towards the still confused Patrat. WIth a red flash, the rodent dematerialized into the ball, which fell to the ground.

 

One shake.

 

Two shakes.

 

Three shakes.

 

_*Click!*_

 

Abernathy jumped for joy, as did Perry, and the two high-fived, the spikes not really doing anything to Abernathy’s metal hands. Perry’s high-five to Rick did not have the same results.

 

“FUCK! Shit. Shit… Okay. congrats, Abernathy. You got a new Pokemon. Tell your Cacnea never to pull that shit again.”

 

Abernathy scratched her head Mareepishly. “Heh. Sorry, Rick.”

 

“You going to name this Patrat? I suggest something like Little Shit.”

  
“Rockwell.”

 

“Like the singer?”

 

“What?”

 

“Nevermind.” He winced. “Actually, we should go back to the lab… I think I do need medical attention.”

  
And back to the lab they went.

 

* * *

 

_00:04…_

 

_00:03…_

 

_00:02…_

 

_00:01—_

 

Rick pressed the button and the microwave swung open, narrowly avoiding awakening the rest of the lab. Normally Juniper didn’t appreciate having people steal her emergency Lean Cuisines, but one or two missing every other day between grocery runs wouldn’t be noticed.

 

Placing the meal in some plastic containers he had bought the previous day, he could still feel the heat of the microwave permeating the container’s thin plastic. Hot, but not hot enough to necessitate pot holders. His sleeves would do.

 

He made his way to the roof of the lab in his bi-weekly ritual, though today he was able to get it in at least an hour early this time. Hopefully she would still be there despite his time. Although Abernathy was still sleeping in the living room, wearing his socks over his shoes, while incredibly unfashionable, was enough for Rick to step quietly through the upper levels of the lab.

 

The cold Nuvema spring nights were still in effect, but that didn’t stop Rick from entering the roof with nary an actual winter coat on his person. Luckily, his contact was in fact here, standing precariously on the edge of the lab’s roof with clear intent towards self-harm.

 

 _Every damn time_.

 

“Dyson. That’s what you’re callin’ yourself, Rick? Sanchez not Professor enough for you?” sneered the contact, a dark-skinned teenage girl with long orange locks of hair and eyes that hadn’t seen sleep in weeks. Her clothes were simple, warm, and cheap, and her face was affixed in a spiteful sneer.

 

“Got you the Chicken Marsala this time, kiddo. Also, you’re welcome, Creme.”

 

“Sanchez, I don’t need your pity—”

 

“And yet you still take the Lean Cuisines. You know Juniper’s starting to catch on, kid. I can’t keep this up for any longer as much as I want to help you—”

  
The girl snapped, and edged forward towards the scientist, causing him to drop the container of chicken marsala in order to raise his hands in a defensive position.

 

“I get it, you old-ass motherfucker! You and my mom were all buddy-buddy back in Arceus-damned Ranger Academy, and you think that you feel the need to pity her stupid, useless daughter because she’s dead now!” Creme’s tone was a mix of genuine rage and barely contained tears. “I don’t _need_ your fucking pity, Rick Dyson Sanchez, especially when you saw what happened to her and did jack shit for us, so you can keep Juniper’s microwave meals back in her fridge. I can handle myself, and I certainly don’t need my mom’s sins or your guilt hanging over me any longer than they have now.”

 

Rick had no response, but he did hear the release mechanism of a Pokeball coming from the girl’s direction.

 

“Ella, getaway protocol. We aren’t coming back to Nuvema.”

 

There was a Flash, and when Rick could discern light from dark again both the girl and the container of food was gone, the only clues to their whereabouts being a dark shadow racing between the alleyways of Nuvema Town.

 

Rick sighed, and took a swig of his flask. “I tried, Vanna. I really tried.”

 

He was too busy staring into the town’s lights to notice the door to the balcony slide shut.


	9. Back on Track

**Day 7**

 

“Allo. My name is Cezanne Marguerite, and I would like to speak to the, how do you say, Professor?” Cezanne was very clearly not the 16-year-old Kalosian student “her” ID says she was, but rather a familiar middle-aged police agent in a really, really bad disguise. He was rocking the disguise booty shorts, however.

 

“Looker, I know it’s you and this is like the worst disguise you’ve done so far,” replied Professor Juniper from the lab’s backdoor intercom.

 

“What are you talking about, mon ami, I am just a student from, how do you say, Kalos,” replied the “normal teenage girl”. The girl’s voice turned into a baritone whisper. “ _ Just let me in, I have important news _ .”

 

“Fine.” There was a beep and the door unlocked. “Cezanne” made “her” way “inside” in a way certainly deserving of three near-consecutive quote unquotes, and snuck into the 2nd floor living room with catlike tread. And by catlike tread, I, the narrator mean the song Catlike Tread. As in not with catlike tread at all. Loud.

 

Abernathy was using her morning to learn more about items, which was a nice way of saying that she was watching Watchy Watchog on TV again after having acquired an unironic liking to the children’s show. Perry was soaking up some sun on the roof, mainly because Abernathy had let her go up there so the Courier wouldn’t have to deal with her own Pokemon making fun of her for liking Watchy Watchog.

 

By this point, Abernathy had grasped the concepts of grooming, Pokemon items, Pokemon care, and the various forms of battling in record time, though her frequent incursions throughout the lab and covertly reading the research notes of Juniper’s assistants certainly helped.

 

Abernathy casually glanced up from the TV, spinning a Pokeball along her metal hands. “Looker! I was wondering when you’d show up.”

 

“What are you talking about, miss, for I am not, how do you say, Looker.” Then Cezanne grasped the side of “her” crop top and deftly pulled off the disguise, which in defiance of logic somehow made Looker more clothed. 

 

“Just kidding, Madame Abernathy! ‘Twas I, Looker the entire time! I bet you couldn’t see past my impeccable “teenager from Kalos” up to and including perfect accuracy of the foreigner from Kalos Unova-speak!”

 

“Looker, sometimes I seriously doubt that you’re a high-ranking officer of Interpol.”

 

“It was bad, wasn’t it.”

“Very much so.”

 

“C’est la vie. Well, I came here to give you this back.” As he was now back in his long coat and suit (somehow), he reached into the coat and pulled out a familiar object.

 

“I was hoping you’d bring my Pip-Boy back. And before you ask, thanks.” Looker handed the wrist-mounted computer back to its owner, and with her deft hands restored her Pip-Boy 3000 to its original position on her left forearm. It beeped back on, recognizing its owner’s biometrics instantly.

 

[Initializing… Welcome back ABERNATHY.] read the Pip-Boy in its signature amber text. [New modules installed: DEX, XTRANSCEIVER, PAL PAD, POKEMON STATS, and DOOM.]

 

“Neat. So I’m guessing your tech guys installed a bunch of programs similar to the stuff you give to new trainers so it’d all be one wrist-mounted package, right?”

 

“Exactly!”

 

“What’s the last one, then? I don’t remember Juniper talking about something called Doom when she was going over equipment. Seems pretty ominous if you ask me.”

 

“Oh, that’s a thing they do when they have a new OS to work on. They always attempt to make the system run this game from the 90’s. I’ve played it, and it’s pretty fun, but it’s mostly just a thing the tech agents left in.”

 

Abernathy was toying with the new features on her Pip-Boy. “Two more questions. Firstly, does this thing have a voice modulator?”

 

“No, but it has the ability to install one—”

 

“Yeah, no thanks. Second question, how much did you learn from the Pip-Boy?”

 

“Well, we over at the Ultra Wormhole Research HQ have learned a lot about nuclear technology, robotics, and weapons from the massive amounts of data on your computer.”

  
“You ain’t going to use it, though…” said Abernathy, a dark expression suddenly overtaking her face as she stared Looker down.

 

Looker held up his hands defensively. “We’re not. What we did learn from your notes was also how badly these innovations could be in the wrong hands, lest we end up like your world.”

 

“Good. As much as I love the Mojave, even I can recognize that those dickheads from before the War really fucked things up.”

“How… eloquent of you.”

 

“I mean  _ really _ fucked things up.”

 

“I get it, Madame Abernathy. I’m sure you and your Pokemon are doing well, I suppose?”

 

“You talkin’ bout Perry or Rockwell?”

 

Looker smiled. “I see you’ve caught another Pokemon, then. Gratulojin! Then you obviously seem to be ready for your Pokemon adventure, then! Your thirst for knowledge must be the reason why you’re watching educational television, of course.”

 

Abernathy realized that she was in fact still watching Watchy Watchog as she was speaking to Looker, and scurried to find the remote.

 

[“Lookin’ for this, Abernathy?”] 

 

The Courier looked up to find Perry on the windowsill spinning the remote on one of her needle points, Rockwell sitting cross-legged next to her.

 

[“These eyes see all,”] said Rockwell, pointing to his big ol’ red eyes.

 

[“Yeah, but only in front of you.”]

 

[“Shut it.”]

 

Abernathy couldn’t help but smile at the banter between her Pokemon, but was still kind of embarrassed that three people knew about her guilty pleasure.

 

“What the fuck is going on here?” came a groggy voice from the stairs. “Wait, is Abernathy watching Watchy Watchog? With no irony whatsoever? Holy crap that’s fucking rich!”

 

Rick laughed, which turned into a wheeze as his old throat gave out. “Shit.”

 

“Monsieur Dyson!” exclaimed Looker. “I must also commend you for your help in researching Madame Abernathy’s device and implementing the technology with our own.”

 

Rick was too busy taking long draws of hot water (or broth? Certainly smelled like broth) from his cup to be able to hear Looker’s commendation. Said commendation prompted some questioning from Abernathy.

 

“Wait. Rick was the one looking through my stuff?” said the Courier. While she did trust Rick as a person, she didn’t exactly appreciate the man not telling her he was also researching her highly sensitive information.

 

“I apologize, Madame Abernathy, but Monsieur Dyson, or Rick as you call him, is one of the top engineers in all of Unova, his fields ranging from mechanical to computers to electronics. He’s mentored such prodigies like Alola’s Sophocles and Kalos’s Clemont, you know.” Looker beamed as if expecting some sort of shocked response.

 

“None of the words following ‘electronics’ meant anything to me.”

 

“Right. Apologies. Anyways, Monsieur Dyson was vital in understanding the nature of your ‘Pip-Boy’ as you called, and he was the one who thought of the idea to integrate our technology, such as the Pokedex, with your own.”

 

“You guys talkin’ about me or something? You know it’s rude to talk about somebody who’s in the room with you,” said Rick, who had finally cleared his throat of the phlegm of agedness.

 

“Ah, I see you’re finally with us, Monsieur Dyson. I’ve come to give Abernathy her Pip-Boy back, and was about to commend you for your help in figuring out the RobCo OS.”

 

Rick snorted. “I’m amazed that any society was able to make a semi-digital system on vacuum tubes of all things.”

 

“You’re too kind.”

 

“Anyways, before you inevitably leave this place, since the only reason you’ve been staying here was to learn and wait for your Pokedex—”

 

“And the meme— “

 

“Falcon Grandma’s already out of the zeitgeist. It fell out, like 2 days ago.” Abernathy’s shoulders slumped upon hearing this. “You’re popular, just not as popular. Now, before you go, I was thinking of something, mainly your cybernetics.”

 

Dyson turned to Looker. “You of all people know my disdain for the Hidden Machine system, Looky.”

 

“...Yes? Don’ call me that.”

 

“Well, since I hate the idea of simply having one Pokemon have all the HMs, sorta like some sorta slave and crap, I thought I could install some upgrades onto your arm prostheses.”

 

Abernathy stared at him for a few moments. “Okay.”

 

“What?!”

 

[“That doesn’t seem wise?!”]

 

“This isn’t the first time this has happened, and most of the time the replacements have been better, so go ahead.”

 

“You’re awfully lax about this, Madame Abernathy.”

 

“AHEM,” coughed Rick conspicuously. “Before I was interrupted, yes, I added implants into the cybernetics. However, for the sake of “fairness”, I haven’t installed the drivers to activate them until you get the corresponding badges. Just call me on the Xtransceiver when you do and I’ll have the Dex download the required drivers.”

 

“Not much of a computer person, but I think I understood that.”

 

“Better than most people I’ve worked with in regards to IT.”

 

Looker checked his watch. “Mein gott! Look at the time! I apologize Madame Delaerie, Monsieur Dyson, but I have to depart immediately. Important Interpol affairs are abound and I cannot stay here much longer. I wish you the best on your adventure. Allons-y!”

 

He jumped out the open window, startling and scattering Rockwell and Perry, who were sitting there calmly before the middle-aged police agent jumped through.

 

“Odd.”

 

“You get used to him,” countered Rick.

 

“By the way, where’s Juniper?”

 

“You’ll met her up in Striaton. Wanted to show you something with her live-in gal pal or whatever.”

 

“Nice.” She turned to the window. “PERRY, ROCKWELL!”

 

[“Yes?”] said the cactus and the chipmunk in tandem.

 

“We’re going on an adventure!”

 

[“Finally.”].


	10. Probably Something Unimportant...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short vignette chapter to make up for the long break I gave myself, which is probably unimportant to the general course of the story. Probably.
> 
> Based on one of BW's more infamous "mechanics."

Neil Battle, the young CEO of Battle Company, at only 13 years of age, did not know how to shave. He had only just learned how tie a necktie a year after his 12th birthday, when he got his first spiffy tie from his grandfather, former CEO Geoff Battle. His only experience on judging products was when his grandfather presented him with the now revolutionary EXP Share device at a meeting he was forced to attend, was a simple mouthing of "Neat!" before returning his attention to his game.

Despite all this, Neil Battle could recognize that the product being pitched before him by some shivering wreck of a "scientist" (he could very clearly see a PartyTown tag still attached to the wimp's lab coat) was definitely going to be a steaming pile of unmarketable hot garbage. He stroked absentmindedly at the Eevee on his lap as the pitch went on.

As the scientist, whose name Neil neither remembered nor care to even learn, babled on, Neil grew tired. Mustering up the consummate power that comes with the position of CEO, he spoke.

"Tell me again why you think I, or any of my family, would ever consider investing in… whatever that is."

"It's the Relocator, Mr. Battle, sir." The wimp held up the device in his hand. It appeared to be a rudimentary piece of electronic hardware, slapped together with solder and sheer luck into a vaguely box-like form. At the heart of the small cube was a container, round and about the same dimensions of a Pokeball.

"Yes. As a company that provides battle supplies and tools, I fail to see what the need for 'relocating' is, unless it relocates enemy Pokemon."

"Well, no…"

"Then what can it do?"

The scientist sniffled, and continued to drone on with his nasally voice. "The Relocator, as I've said before, can transport objects and Pokemon through time and space! It's a revolutionary way of transporting Pokemon, sir!"

Even the Eevee woke up from its little nap to glare at the scientist.

"You know we have the PC Storage System, right?"

"Well, my invention can transport anything anywhere, not constrained by the limits of the Personal Computer!"

The wimp weakly chuckled. "I need your investment in my work so I can make it actually go where I tell it to…"

Neil put his hands to his temple, channeling the spirit of a businessman thrice his age. "So… you come here. To my office. With…  _that_. And you expect me to give you money, as if this was a friggin' episode of Sharpedo Tank."

"W-Wait! It even has a tagline! 'Everyone happy, Simple Connection!'" said the scientist, his face warped into a desperate smile. "Isn't it neat?!"

"... Get out."

"I never even got to demonstrate! Here…" The scientist shot his arm out and grabbed a pen from the CEO's desk, his adult stature preventing the 13-year-old from stopping him. He picked up a discarded Pokeball from his satchel and stuffed the pen inside. "Watch!"

"I'm calling security."

Placing the Pokeball into the Relocator, the scientist pressed a button on the side, and it began to glow and steam up before exploding in a flash of light…

And the ball was gone.

The scientist was barely able to collect his things before being thrown out of Battle Company.

* * *

Somewhere, across time and space, a Pokeball pops into existence.

It rolls across carpet onto cold metal floor, rolling aimlessly before being picked up by a small boxy robot, the screen on its face depicting a smiling coffee mug.

Unceremoniously, it is polished and stored away into a chest, the robot going back to his normal duties of waiting for a Courier to come, coffee cups in tow.

He's been waiting for a week now.


End file.
